Rescue Me
by Julie Windred
Summary: Chris' cousin finds out about his plans to travel back to the past and, knowing that it may kill him, decides to follow him back.


**RESCUE ME**

Paris took one last sip from her glass of water, watching her father rise to answer the drilling echo of the telephone. She scooped up the dirty dishes from the dining room table and carried them into the kitchen, the soft tones of her father's voice wafting in from the next room. She didn't want to pry, but being fifteen she had a natural curiosity about any gossip that was circulating through the town.

"Again?" Her father groaned. "Okay, honey. Yes, yes, I'll tell her. Don't stay too late, okay? I'll see you tonight."

Hearing her father replace the receiver, Paris scampered back into her chair in the dining room and folded her hands like the obedient daughter who had never left her place. Her father came back into the room, his eyes tired, and rubbing the stubble on his face.

"Paris, honey, that was your mother. She has to work late again tonight. She said not to wait up for her tonight, and make sure you finish that assignment that's due on Friday."

"I finished that days ago, daddy."

"Well, I suppose she didn't know that. She hasn't been home much this week." He propped his hands on his hips and glanced up the hallway. "I've got to go through some papers tonight. Don't you have homework or something to do?"

"Well, not really, but I'll go do the dishes, and then do some study in my room."

She got up and walked around to him. He embraced her and kissed the top of her head.

"You're such a good child. Whatever did I do to be blessed with such wonderful women like you and your mother?"

Paris smiled, then broke away from her father and moved into the kitchen. After she was finished, she snuck past the living room where her father was agonising over paperwork, and raced up the stairs to her room, closing the door securely behind her. Finally letting out a breath of relief that she hadn't realised she'd been holding, she dropped to her knees and pulled out a box that she had hidden under her bed. It was full of dusty leather bound books, most of which were no longer dusty. She dived onto her bed and opened one of the books to the first page where the name Phoebe Halliwell was penned onto the blank page.

She loved reading her mother's old journals. She'd discovered a whole box of them whilst cleaning out their attic during one of her good daughter deeds. It amazed her to discover that when your parents thought you were the perfect daughter, they would let you get away with just about anything. And so they never noticed when Paris took the box out of the attic and hid it under the bed in her room. Her parents trusted her so much that they didn't even feel the need to snoop around her stuff.

As Paris flicked through the pages of the old journals, she often imagined her mother to be much like her in her youth, with the long brown hair, skinny frame, and positive personality. And most of these books recited tales of Phoebe's wild youth, and the stories of her time in New York. Paris had soon learned what not to do to keep on her parent's good side, or at the very least her mother's. She soon became engrossed in the latest tales of her mother's old boyfriends, horrid teachers, and wild parties.

"That doesn't look much like a textbook," her father stated from the doorway. Paris looked up in surprise. "What are you meant to be studying?"

With quick thinking, Paris folded back the leather bound cover and glanced at the faded surface. "Uh... History. Yeah, it's a history book. They keep lots of old stuff like this at the library. You should check it out sometime."

"I don't think I would have time, but thanks for the suggestion. Don't forget to have an early night, okay? Your mother doesn't want you staying up to all hours again."

"I'll just finish reading this chapter, and then I'll go to sleep. Promise."

Paris waited for her father to close the door behind him, and for his footsteps to pad down the hallway, before she resumed reading. Before long, she found herself at the end of the book – her mother had lost her job, had no money, and had apparently been talking with her Aunty Piper about moving back from New York into the Halliwell Manor where they all grew up. Enthralled to know more about her aunts, Paris dropped the book onto the floor and pulled each journal out of the box, one by one, trying to find the next instalment. She checked again and again, but the journals ceased to go beyond the one she'd just read. She concluded that there must be more in another box somewhere, and that she'd have to be sneaky to look around for them. She didn't want to ask her mother because she just may get angry with her for snooping around in her private things.

She heard footsteps on the stairs and quickly shoved the box back under her bed, switching out her light and jumping into bed fully clothed. She hadn't had time to get changed. She could hear her mother open the door to look in on her, and opened her eyelids just enough to peek through her eyelashes. A thin sliver of light flowed around her mother and cast strips of paleness across her face. Content that her daughter was asleep, Phoebe turned away and closed the door behind her.

Paris was surprised to find her mother in the living room with her father when she arrived home from school on Friday afternoon. Phoebe had her hands folded in her lap and was in deep discussion with Paris' father. They both looked very serious, and Paris was afraid that she was soon to receive some particularly bad news. The sudden silence that fell across the room as Paris entered was unnerving. Her father finally took a deep breath and stared straight at Phoebe.

"So when are you leaving?" he asked.

"Tomorrow. I've got a flight early in the morning, I figured the sooner I left the better it would be."

"What? Mom? What's going on?" Paris' voice began to rise in desperation.

Phoebe instantly glanced towards Paris. "I have to go home."

"But, mom, you are home." She sat by her mother on the couch and put a hand against her forehead. "Are you feeling okay?"

Phoebe gently removed Paris' hand and held them both in her own hands. "Aunt Paige has to go away on business, so she needs me to look after the house."

"I still don't see why you have to fly all the way back to San Francisco when there are two boys who live in that same house that are perfectly old enough to look after it and themselves," Paris' father protested.

"They may be old enough, but I absolutely wouldn't doubt the two of them trying to kill each other while Paige is away," Phoebe explained. "I'm not sure how long I'll be gone for, but I've taken a month's leave from work..."

"A month!" Paris' father exclaimed.

"Yes, a month."

"I'm coming with you," Paris intervened.

"I can't ask you to do that, sweetie, you have school."

"I only have a week left of school. I've done all my exams. Honestly, mom, I don't even have to be there."

"What do you think?" Phoebe asked her husband.

"Well, I suppose it won't do any harm. She hasn't seen her cousins or Paige in a while."

"Exactly," Paris agreed enthusiastically, trying to convince her mother to take her along.

"Oh, alright," Phoebe relented. "Just so long as you promise me that you will come right back when you're needed here, or when I tell you to."

"Of course! I'll start packing right now."

Paris' father smirked. "She's enthusiastic. Just don't let her get up to too much mischief with those cousins of hers."

"She'll be okay," Phoebe assured him. Silently, she hoped she was right.

He got up and turned the television on, upping the volume so that he could hear the news broadcast from the dining room as he began to set the table for dinner.

"Ford has made his latest appearance in court after facing charges on possession of marijuana and reckless driving after local police were involved in a high speed chase down interstate 86 before his vehicle crashed into oncoming traffic. A police spokesperson said he was unlikely to escape jail time this time around after repeated offences and certain damage to other people and their possessions." The newsreader shuffled her papers as the screen imaged changed. "And in other news, San Francisco has become yet another scene of devastation as more city buildings were today reduced to rubble..."

Phoebe, witnessing the broadcast, quickly got to her feet and switched the television off. She found the plug and pulled it out of the wall, stealthily kicking it aside so her husband wouldn't notice.

"Honey, what was that about?" he called.

"Nothing. I think the TV might have blown a circuit or something." She came into the kitchen and leaned seductively against the doorframe. "You know, since this is going to be my last night here for a while, I was thinking maybe we could..."

Paris' father froze in his place, his hand halfway to placing a plate on the table, and looked over at his wife. She raised her eyebrows suggestively. He finished what he was doing and took her into his arms, kissing her lips as everything else was forgotten.

"You can be a little devil, you know that?" he said as she rocked from side to side in his arms.

"Better the devil you know..."

"Then the one you don't," they both finished together and laughed.

"Well, my little temptress, perhaps we should eat dinner first, and then wait for our darling daughter to go to sleep before we take any action upon this thought."

Phoebe kissed him again. "I'm doubting she's going to sleep tonight."

"Why don't you get dinner out, and I'll go get her," he suggested. Phoebe sauntered into the kitchen, casting longing glances over her shoulder as she left him. He walked to the stairs and called up: "Paris! Dinner!"

Paris hardly slept that night. She bounded down the stairs the next morning, and was in the cab before her mother had a chance to get out the door. Phoebe had a bundle of bags with her, as if she was permanently moving away and not just housesitting for a month. Paris thought back to the last journal she had read when her mother had gone back to the manor from New York with barely a penny in her hand. It was a drastic difference between the young girl who couldn't keep a job down, and the well-loved and respected writer she had turned out to be.

"Paris, can you hold these?" Phoebe asked, passing the plane tickets through the window.

Paris took hold of the pieces of paper, the cool smoothness fading away in her hands. She was in the airport. She couldn't remember getting there. She was just standing there facing the glass and watching the planes take off. Their flight number was called and then announced that there would be a two-hour delay. A child tripped nearby, smearing ice cream all over his face. He began crying. She felt a hand on her arm, and heard her mother call her name.

"Paris? Paris," Phoebe called.

Paris glanced down. Her mother's hand was on her arm. The tickets fell from her hand and fluttered to the floor. She looked up to find she was still in the cab. They were only pulling away from the house now.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" Phoebe asked.

"Um, yeah. I just felt a bit light-headed for a minute there," Paris answered. "I'll be fine."

Phoebe looked at her questioningly but decided not to push. They rode in silence for most of the way to the airport. The light flickered in and out of the trees as they passed. They managed to squeeze into a spot outside the airport where they stopped and pulled their luggage out of the trunk. The terminal inside was populated with tourists looking for summer getaways in the coming months. Paris stopped by a window and watched as the planes took off.

"I think we might be waiting awhile," Phoebe said. "The plane hasn't even come in yet. I'm going to grab something to eat, do you want anything?"

Paris looked at her, her eyes empty as if she was staring straight through her. She shook her head numbly.

"Well at least sit down until I get back." Phoebe stroked her daughter's hair. "I'm worried about you, sweetie. I don't want you to pass out around here. You never know what strange boys are lurking about."

"Mom!" Paris cried.

"It's true." Phoebe grinned. "I've seen them."

Paris chuckled. "Go."

Paris turned back to the window as Phoebe headed off in search of food. She hadn't been watching long when a voiceover announced that their flight had been delayed by two hours. Paris smiled to herself; it was a strange coincidence. A young child tottered in front of her with an ice cream in his hands, taking long slow licks with great pleasure. His shoelaces had managed to loosen themselves and start tangling, while his ice cream served as a great distraction to what was happening while he walked. He soon became so entangled that he tripped over his own feet and landed face down, his ice cream smearing across his face. Paris never took any notice until he started crying, his mother running over and scooping him up. It was the same child, the same accident that she had seen in the cab.

"Must be some kind of extreme de ja vu," she said to herself.

Her mother's hand was on her arm "Paris? Paris."

"What?" she replied, turning to face her.

"Come sit down. We've got a long wait."

It was late afternoon when they finally arrived at the Halliwell manor. Phoebe dragged her bags up the stone steps towards the door as Paris stared up at the two-storey house with wide-eyed wonder. It had been many years since they had been here. Seven, in fact, when her Aunty Piper died, though she couldn't remember the finer details of it, she just knew they had been living there awhile before the 'event'.

"About time you got here," Paige criticized, opening the door wide for Phoebe and helping her haul the bags inside. "I'm going to be really late now. You know that, right?"

"Sorry, couldn't be helped. The flight was delayed."

"You could have just called me," Paige hissed. "I would have or..."

"Uh, Paige," Phoebe interrupted, indicating her daughter coming behind her up the stairs.

"Oh, I see. Well, we have extra company then." Paige turned towards the stairs. "Chris! Wyatt! Get down here. We could use a little help!"

She received two lots of grumbled responses in return as the two boys came trotting down the stairs, lining up in the hallway like children of the Von Trapp family. Paris stopped in the doorway, scrutinising her cousins. Both were in their twenties now and had surpassed the teen years when she had saw them last. They both looked incredibly grown up. It was still easy to tell the difference between them – Wyatt with his long, blonde wavy hair, and Chris whose darker hair and smaller frame made him resemble her Aunty Piper more.

Wyatt cut an imposing figure to Paris with his unshaven face and muscular body. It gave her the impression that he would be able to carry all their bags upstairs in one go. His jeans were torn, and his dark shirt wrapped around his torso like a second skin. She caught his eye and he scowled back at her. In that instant Paris remembered that he had never been friendly towards her, nor anyone else she could think of.

Chris, on the other hand, she used to be quite close with. She could remember nights when Chris used to sneak into her room to get away from the arguments between Aunty Piper and Wyatt when he used to come home at all hours of the night; getting himself in trouble for stealing cars, or dealing drugs, or whatever it was that used to keep him out after dark. Often they would hear Aunty Piper yelling at him for the danger he was putting himself and others in, and when he got cocky she would always call his father, Uncle Leo, to come and try to talk some sense into him. Paris wouldn't have been surprised if this influenced Wyatt in any way for her Uncle Leo had some serious anger issues dating back to when Chris was born. He would never come visit Chris when he came around, and Chris felt as if his own father hated him and resented him for nearly killing Piper, who had been haemorrhaging when he was born. And as far as she could tell from phone conversations she had overhead between her mother and Paige, ever since Aunty Piper's death, he never came around anymore.

Chris had always been the complete opposite of Wyatt. He was friendly, considerate, very polite, though a little stubborn, and he was always willing to help someone out. He was just like Aunty Piper. Only, it seemed, the death of his mother shattered him and he suddenly became quite cold towards everyone. The only person who was ever able to get through to him was their grandfather. And as Paris looked over him now, he stared back at them with that same look of disinterest, and crossed his arms across his chest.

"Well, this is a nice little family gathering," Paige said, breaking the ice. "Can you guys put Phoebe's stuff in my room, and Paris can stay in Phoebe's old room." Neither of the boys moved. Paige waved towards the luggage. "Well, come on! I have to go sometime today."

Chris was the first to move, picking up two of Phoebe's larger bags. Wyatt made a move towards Paris. She instantly stepped back, clutching her bag in her hands.

"No, it's okay. I can take my own," she insisted.

Wyatt stared at her, his hand still held out, and shrugged. He picked up the smaller bags at Phoebe's feet and took them up the stairs. Paris followed at a safe distance. She was surprised that she remembered which room was hers, though the place had hardly changed over the years. She still felt as if no time had passed.

Paris was finding it difficult to sleep in her surroundings. All the odd noises – the creaks of the old house settling in the cool night, the scratch of the trees on the windows outside, the wind whistling through the high rises of the hills around them. She thought she could hear footsteps outside her door. Hastily she rolled over, staring at the doorway and straining her ears. It had gone quiet. She was about to close her eyes when she heard it again – the soft pad of footsteps outside her door. Waiting for a moment, she slid out of bed and tiptoed to her door, turning the knob ever so slowly and pulling the door backwards just the slightest fraction. She was expecting to see Wyatt heading out on his way to another late-night adventure, but she wondered why he would feel the need to sneak about. Quietly, she snuck into the hallway and to the top of the stairs as a lone figure padded his way down to the ground floor. Crouching so that she didn't have to move down any further, Paris saw him grab his jacket from the front coat rack and put it on. A sliver of moonlight filtered through the window onto his face, and now Paris could see quite clearly that it was Chris who was sneaking out at such a late hour. She wondered if she should follow him to see where he was going, but decided not to. If her mother found her missing on their first night there she would be sure to jump to all kinds of conclusions. Silently she went back to bed and tried to will herself to fall asleep. This time it worked.

It was almost midday by the time Chris made an appearance downstairs. Wyatt had taken off very early in the morning, and Phoebe was working on her laptop at the table in the kitchen.

"Good morning, Chris," Phoebe said chirpily.

"Hey," he grumbled, his eyes bleary as he poured himself some juice.

"How'd you sleep?" Phoebe asked, eager to get a conversation going.

"K," he replied. He raised the back of his hand to his mouth as he yawned. Leaning against the counter, he took a sip from his glass. "Where's Wyatt?"

"He left early this morning with some friends of his. He said he had some things to get done. Work, apparently. Which is more than I can say for you, sleepyhead."

Chris rolled his eyes and placed his glass back onto the kitchen counter, then headed past the table and into the living room.

"Oh, come on, Chris. I was joking!" Phoebe called after him. She shook her head and looked back at her screen. "Kids these days."

Paris was in the living room when he got there, browsing through the photos that had been placed around the room. She picked up Piper and Leo's wedding photo and stared at the happy couple, trying to fathom what went wrong between them. Chris took the frame out of her hand and placed it face down on the shelf where she had picked it up.

"Could you not do that," he said.

"Why?" she asked.

"Just... don't."

He started heading back for the kitchen. Paris looked at the down turned photo then turned after him in annoyance.

"Hey!" she shouted. "Is that all you came in here for? Just to tell me off for touching some photographs?"

Chris turned his head back and gave her a warning look. Paris wasn't about to receive the silent treatment once again. She decided that if he was allowed to push her buttons, then she could push his.

She walked up behind him and said in a low voice: "Tell me, are you trying to live up to your brother's reputation now, sneaking out so late at night? Does Wyatt have a little prodigy?"

Chris instantly spun on her and pushed her back onto the couch. "Don't you say that. Don't you ever say that!"

Just as quickly he pulled back, resuming his composure and leaving her stunned on the couch. When she thought it was safe to move again, she leaned forward and looked him dead in the eye.

"Then where did you go last night? I saw you leave. And from the looks of you this morning, you didn't come back too quickly."

"It's none of your business."

"Well it will be if my mom finds out."

"Aunt Phoebe is not going to find out," Chris warned.

"Hey, take it easy, I didn't say I was going to tell her. I'm just saying that you never know, she just might catch you out one of these days."

"Just forget it, Paris. It was one night. You don't even know whether or not that was the only time I'd done it."

"Yeah, okay," Paris said. She waited a moment, then followed him back into the kitchen and opened up the fridge. Chris resumed drinking his juice.

"I was going to suggest you take Paris out today, Chris, but I think it would be safer if you two stayed in," Phoebe said.

"Why, mom?" Paris asked, closing the fridge door and looking over her mother's shoulder at the laptop screen. Phoebe was looking at the San Francisco news website, with the bloody headline 'More citizens found bludgeoned to death at local building site'.

"Someone's driving around with a wrecking ball in their possession this morning," Phoebe answered.

For the first time since they'd arrived, a look of interest crossed Chris' face, and he moved to view what the two women were reading.

"I, ah, have to go," Chris said after he finished reading the article.

"Chris, don't," Phoebe cautioned.

"No, really, I was supposed to meet someone."

"Can I go?" Paris asked.

"No," Phoebe and Chris both said at the same time. Paris stared at them both with curiosity.

"Just go back upstairs, sweetie," Phoebe said finally. "I'm sure you can find something to do. Chris won't be too long, will you Chris?"

"No. Not long," Chris followed.

Paris sighed then headed back upstairs. Phoebe's glance shifted to Chris as he placed his glass in the sink.

"You're not going to chase after Wyatt, Chris," Phoebe asserted.

"No, I told you, I'm supposed to be meeting someone."

"Who?"

"No-one you know."

"Chris..."

"You're not my mother, okay? Stop trying to tell me what I can and can't do," he said, and slammed the back door on his way out.

Hearing the noise downstairs, Paris rushed over to the bedroom window and looked out. Chris was heading out to the street, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets. Looking up to the sky, she could see that it was beginning to cloud over with ash and dust. Things did not look good for San Francisco.

After Chris disappeared from her sight, Paris went back to rifling through the drawer of her mother's old desk. There wasn't much in there, just a couple of love letters from her father, a souvenir doll from Hong Kong, some scraps of paper with what looked like bits of poetry scribbled onto them, and a handful of tiny vials with strange-coloured and awful smelling perfume. She picked up a business card from the drawer and tossed it onto the top of the desk. It flipped over and she saw a heartfelt message of love scribbled on the back. Picking it back up, she flipped it over to the front again. It was a business card for some District Attorney named Cole Turner. Her mother obviously had a taste for high-end business-minded men.

Glancing at the doll from Hong Kong, she remembered her mother had lived there briefly with one of her other boyfriends. Paris knew her mother had been a big jetsetter; after all she had been named after the capital of France. Her mother also used to tell her when she was little that naming their children names that started with a P was a tradition in the family; though she still wasn't sure how Wyatt and Chris fitted into that.

Replacing everything in the drawer, she looked around the room for something else to do. Her eyes fell upon the chest at the end of the bed. It was old, weather-beaten, and as she crouched down to look at it she discovered that it was also locked. She ran her hands along the cracks in the opening to see if she could get a good finger hold to try and pry it open. No such luck. She placed her hands on the lock, stunned at the coolness of it. A warmth began radiating through her hands and suddenly she felt the lock give way underneath her palm. She drew her hands back and looked at the chest again. The lock had taken on a slightly warped look. She glanced around before she again moved towards the chest and peeled the lid back. There was a bunch of clothes lying on top. As Paris pulled them out, she realised they looked more like costumes. She carefully laid them out one by one on the bed. There was a long flowing white dress that could have been used for a goddess costume, a barely pieced together leather bikini top and skirt, a superhero looking costume, amongst other things. Then there was a myriad of veils, scarfs and other loose material, and stuffed into a corner were numerous tops that had either been burnt or bloodied. But the thing that interested Paris the most were the collection of leather bound books neatly stacked at the bottom. The book at the top was dated seven years ago, but the one at the very bottom was the next instalment from the journals she had been reading at home.

She lifted the pile of books out of the chest and placed them in a small spot between the bed and the nightstand. Then ever so carefully she replaced what she had pulled out of the chest into the same positions and closed the lid. As she flipped through the pages, she began to wonder if her mother had joined some kind of cult upon returning to San Francisco. Her entries were full of strange, made up stories of evil beings, magic powers, ghosts that haunted various people. In these pages, her mother claimed to have premonitions which made Paris laugh to herself. Her mother was intuitive, but she was definitely no psychic. She would barely even notice when something was burning in the oven.

Despite the odd things she would write about, Paris found that her mother was beginning to pull her life together through the support of her family. Aunty Prue had stopped having ill feelings towards her about the 'Roger thing', and she wrote about how the three sisters had bonded together to be closer than they ever had. Paris began to wonder where her Aunty Paige was during all this time, but she kept reading further to get some intriguing insights into things her mother would not talk to her about – like her Uncle Leo, and when he and Aunty Piper were married; and her Aunty Prue's untimely death. But even amongst these pages it seemed her mother could not deal with it head on for she would still talk about demons, monsters and ghosts that affected these situations. Her eyes grew tired as she began the second book, and she felt herself drift off to sleep. The book tumbled from her hands onto the floor in front of the small, hidden pile she had made.

"Chris," a voice hissed.

Chris looked up from the stone seat he was sitting on in the middle of a large open space in the arboretum. The flowers bloomed in fascinating colours, accentuating the already stunning view of the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance. A girl with long light brown hair and olive skin appeared from behind the nearby angel statue. She reached out her hand and took hold of his as she sat down next to him.

"I'm glad to see you're okay," Chris said.

"Yeah, well, if he knew I was here, he wouldn't be so happy," she returned.

Chris sighed unhappily, looking down at her hand in his. She gripped it encouragingly.

"I heard about the building site," he said quietly. He looked back towards her. "Was it him?"

She nodded. "Amongst other things."

"Why didn't you stop him?" Chris asked, hesitant but with a sign of desperation in his voice.

"I tried to talk him out of it. But he thinks he's invincible now. It's hard to stop him."

She flipped her hand around, and now Chris could see the bird-shaped birthmark on her inner wrist, the one that marked her as an assassin.

"I suppose he enlisted your services to kill the guard again."

"He would have killed me if I didn't," she claimed. "You can't say no to Wyatt, Chris. You know that."

"It's just..." He paused, lifting her hand and kissing her knuckles. "I forget... that you... that that's what you do."

"Aw, baby," she said, her voice softening, and raised her free hand to his face to place a gentle kiss on his lips. "Did anyone see you come home this morning?"

"No. Well, my cousin saw me leave, but that was it. I didn't tell her anything."

"Good. Wait... your cousin?"

"Yeah. She and my other aunt are looking after the house while Aunt Paige is away."

"Chris, you know what that means?" Chris looked at her. She was insistent, excited. He didn't understand the sudden change. "We have an opportunity. She won't suspect."

"Wait, what? What opportunity?"

"You remember what I was telling you last?"

He shook his head. "No."

"About my idea. About going back. Saving Wyatt. Before any of this happened."

"Bianca, no. It's ridiculous. I..."

She stood up suddenly, her face serious and alert, staring into some voided existence. The snap seconds dissipated as she looked back to Chris with a sorry smile on her face.

"I better go. Before he catches me with you," she said. Chris shook his head, keeping a firm hold on her hand. "Chris, please, he's already getting suspicious. I think he knows you got to me. Don't let it end here."

Chris dropped her hand and watched the background ripple as she shimmered away. Moments later, a sparkling blue light dropped down beside him, and his older brother appeared to his left in an angered state, a short dagger clearly visible in his right hand.

"Where is she?" he growled.

"Who?" Chris replied,

"You know who. I can smell her. That burnt, charred smell."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Wyatt, but I think the burnt smell is from something you caused."

Wyatt scowled. "What are you doing here then?"

Chris shrugged. "It's peaceful. It's beautiful. I can think about mom."

"Beauty is for the vain. And the vain don't last long."

"But I suppose power is the ultimate high?" Chris suggested.

"You know well, brother. I have the power, and the tools. I am not someone to be messed with," Wyatt warned.

"I'm not threatened by you," Chris said defiantly.

Wyatt lifted the knife in his hand and placed it against Chris' neck, leaning low so that he was face to face with him.

"You haven't seen the extent of it, brother. Now I'm going to warn you, just this once, do not cross me, leave what's mine alone, and do not interfere again, or you will live to regret it."

With that last statement, Wyatt orbed away, leaving Chris again on his own, rubbing his neck where the knife had just been. Chris waited to see if Bianca would return, but she did not, and so Chris took one last glance at the beauty of the garden and began to head for home.

Phoebe closed the cover of her laptop and put it back in its cover. She heard footsteps coming down the stairs and looked towards the door of the kitchen to see if her daughter had come down to complain about being stuck inside all day. Instead, the lumbering figure of her oldest nephew appeared in the open doorway.

"Wyatt! I didn't see you come in." She paused momentarily as a thought entered her brain. "Or... you didn't come through the door, did you?"

"So what?" he asked.

"Didn't Paige tell you?" She instantly saw the look of insurgence in his eyes, and understood that he didn't care. She moved closer to him, as close as she would allow herself, and lowered her voice. "Can we just keep the magic down a tad? Particularly the orbing. Paris doesn't know anything about magic. She won't understand your powers."

Wyatt looked away but didn't say anything. Phoebe worried this was a noncommittal statement, and decided that she would have to keep a close eye on Wyatt, especially when her daughter was around.

It was dark again when Chris arrived home. Phoebe sensed his feelings of sadness and went to check on him, but he brushed past her and headed back up the stairs, shutting himself into his room. Phoebe followed, knocking lightly as she opened his door. He was lying on his bed, staring vacantly at the ceiling.

"Is everything okay, Chris?"

"Yeah, fine," he said, but his voice did not echo the sentiment.

"Are you sure? You can talk to me, if you want." Her lips curved up in a humorous smile. "I'm great at giving advice."

"No, I'm fine, really," he insisted. "Where's Wyatt?"

"Out. Again. He stopped home briefly; I gave him a lecture on what he shouldn't be doing. Same old thing, really." She sighed. "I don't expect he'll be home tonight."

"No," Chris agreed.

"I'm really worried he's going to do something stupid. And if Paris finds out, she's not going to understand. It's too big a thing to explain to her. Sure, if she does end up getting some kind of power, maybe I will have to, but she hasn't yet so I don't think she needs to know."

"You don't have to worry about me."

"No, I know, Chris. Just help me keep an eye on him."

There was a long stretch of silence as Phoebe lingered in the doorway. Chris finally spoke up: "Can I be alone now?"

Phoebe nodded. She closed the door, and walked down the hall. Behind her, music began to pump very loudly from Chris' room. He'd switched his stereo on to block out whatever was troubling him.

Phoebe began heading back down the stairs when she felt the staircase move. Clutching onto the railing, she looked about her, aware of how many evil beings they'd previously had suddenly appear inside their house, and expecting to fight one more. Suddenly she felt the whole house began to shake, and she dashed downstairs to the kitchen doorway as frames fell from the walls behind her and splintered on the stairs. Upstairs she heard a crash and the music abruptly go quiet.

"Paris? Chris?" she shouted from her safe position in the doorway.

Paris fell off the bed with a crash as the house moved. Now awakened by her shift in position, she was aware that this was more than likely some kind of earthquake, and dived underneath the bed, scooping the stray books with her. She heard loud music from Chris' room, then a crash, and finally silence as the song stopped dead mid-lyric. As the vibrations receded into small tremors, she heard her mother calling out to her and Chris from downstairs. When the stillness had settled, she raced downstairs, kicking her way through the broken frames to get to her mother. Chris appeared on the stairway above them.

"So everyone's okay then?" Phoebe asked as she hugged Paris close to her chest and stroked her hair. Chris didn't speak, but Phoebe understood that his appearance on the stairs was an indication that he hadn't been hurt. "I hope Wyatt's safe. I don't like him being out during all this."

Chris turned and went back upstairs. Phoebe could sense he was angry, but she still wasn't certain why. There was definitely some bad blood between her two nephews. She wondered if Paris would be able to get through to him, she had been fairly close to Chris when they were younger. She kissed her daughter's head and held her away from her.

"Why don't you try and get some sleep, and we'll see if Chris will take you out tomorrow? It's about time you two started hanging out together again."

"Yes, mom," Paris agreed good-naturedly.

She went back up to her room and pulled out the books from under her bed. She wasn't going to be sleeping again. She was only slightly frightened, but having fallen asleep before made her feel wide-awake now. She picked up the next book and began to read through it. Her interest was suddenly perked when she found the name Cole Turner featured in its pages. She was even more amazed to find that the man her mother described as 'the source of all evil' was such a huge part of her past. It was a man that she married, a man that had implanted her with his evil seed. He was a bad guy trying to do good... but then she'd often had the impression that all lawyers were like that. Paris began to wonder if the whole half-human half-demon thing was code for compassion and wildness. She could understand from her mother's past how she would have found him appealing. The further she got in, the more she discovered about her mother. How she had helped him fake his own death, and then had to kill him for real. She looked back towards the door and wondered what kind of family she had gotten herself into. Putting that book aside, Paris picked up the next one and began to read more positive, saner thoughts of her mother's. This book was like an ode to Wyatt – how cute he was, what a good baby he was, the quirky little things he did, how her mother used to speak to him through Aunty Piper's stomach. She was definitely clucky. Paris decided to put it down before she started getting a positive view of her oldest cousin.

As Paris opened up the pages of the next book, she realised that almost two years had passed before the journal began – from when they had brought home baby Chris. She picked up the last book she had been reading and looked at the last page. Wyatt was only a few months old – he hadn't even had his first birthday. Paris looked underneath the bed, pulling up the ones she could reach. None of them fell into the time period before Chris was born. She saw a stray journal against the far wall. She realised she must have kicked it on her way downstairs. Getting up, she walked past the chest to pick it up. The floor creaked and she stopped. The earthquake had caused the chest to move, exposing the squeaky floorboard she was now putting her weight on. She walked the rest of the way and picked up the book, walking back to the bed, and again this sole floorboard squeaked under her tiny weight.

Getting down on all fours she knocked. It sounded hollow. She noticed one of the edges was sticking up slightly and wondered if anything was hidden beneath it. She couldn't lift it with her fingers. Opening her door, she saw Chris had gotten the toolkit out so that he could fix the damage in his room in the morning. She took the hammer from the top and went back into her room. She used the opposite end to pry the floorboard up and was excited to find that there was something under it - the missing journal. No sooner did she lift it up, she dropped it again as another flash took her somewhere else. She saw Chris, in an attic, doubled over and screaming out in pain as blood soaked through the light coloured shirt he had on, and leaning over him was her Uncle Leo. The same Uncle Leo who hadn't made an appearance in years, who had a destructive temper and who had hated Chris.

"Chris!" she cried, getting to her feet and racing to his room. Flinging his door open, she discovered he was calmly lying on his bed reading a magazine. "Chris."

"What?"

She stopped, unsure of why she had to say this. It was only a deluded vision after all.

"What do you want, Paris?" he asked again.

"Chris, please, be careful. Watch out for Uncle Leo next time you see him."

"Not that he's ever around, but can I ask why?"

"I think he's going to kill you."

"Get out," Chris said, throwing the magazine at the door. She backed out quickly and returned to her room, feeling strange.

Nothing happened when she touched the book again. She suddenly felt bad for even mentioning it to him. He hadn't believed her anyway. And as she started to read this journal, she discovered it had nothing to do with him at all. Only baby Wyatt apparently doing very strange things, and a new whitelighter called Chris Perry. Paris wondered if that's who her Aunty Piper and Uncle Leo had named him after. This journal was even stranger than the others, where Uncle Leo became an elder of some council. Paris thought it sounded a bit like Ancient Rome, especially with all the Gods and Goddesses in it. Her mother must have been greatly into Ancient History at this stage of her life.

Paris hadn't gotten very far in the book when she realised how late it was getting. She put the book down amongst the rest, so that it didn't look so conspicuous, and turned her light out.

"You really didn't think you could take me on, did you?" Wyatt said, raising his hand as he telekinetically choked the mortal man across the alley from him.

"Where have you been?" Lot, one of Wyatt's demon clan hissed to Bianca as she shimmered in next to him. "He's been looking for you."

"Bianca, darling," Wyatt called with his hand outstretched towards her, his demeanour as if he was at a dinner party and not killing someone in a dark back alley just outside of town. "Finally come to join the party, have you?"

"You're a hard person to track," Bianca replied. Wyatt laughed heartily.

"Well that is the point, now, isn't it? Can't go giving away little clues here and there. We might get ourselves into trouble." He dropped his hand, and the man before him fell to the ground, clutching his neck as if looking for an invisible noose. He orbed his eyes out briefly at the man, a trick he had picked up when he was younger, and the man screamed and cowered before him. Wyatt smiled, satisfied. "I think it's about time we went inside, don't you?"

Bianca nodded obediently, following Wyatt and Lot into the nearby bar. The flashing fireballs and screams from the people inside that followed dissuaded any newcomer from coming within two feet of the building. They all abruptly turned and headed in another direction. A few people stood on the street outside, staring in awe as the building went up in flames, and the three intruders emerged, taking seats on stolen motorbikes and tearing down the road past them. Sirens blared as police vehicles soon gave chase, following them at high speed along the road and towards the Golden Gate Bridge. Cars pulled to the side and stopped as the roads began to tremble, and the three bandits raced past. The bridge loomed before them as the police began to close in. Lot generated a fireball on his hand and threw it back towards the police, landing a clear shot of one of the vehicles and sending it up in flames. Wyatt slowed so Lot and Bianca could catch up to him before launching his own attack, indicating with his hands to move or drop vehicles and other objects behind them to give them more ground. He screamed excitedly and laughed with the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body as they began to pull away, only one vehicle now able to chase them. The earthquake was working in his favour, and it didn't require much of his power to offset things. He decided to go for the ultimate thrill.

"Hold on tight, guys," he shouted. "This is gonna be great!"

A look of panic crossed Bianca's face as she looked behind them. The bridge began to swell like a balloon filled with water, rising higher and higher towards the sky. Cracks began to form along the bridges foundations, and finally it split with unimaginable force. The three of them found themselves gliding through the air as the last police vehicle skidded to a sudden halt at the edge of the other side of the bridge.

Wyatt laughed with glee as they landed, directing his entourage through the streets along the edge of town. He pulled the bike up to a stop atop one of the rises and looked back at his handiwork.

"That was great. Brilliant, in fact," Wyatt bragged.

"Great? Great?" Bianca shrieked, jumping off her bike. "Look at it! You broke the Golden Gate Bridge!"

"Shut up, Bianca." He gave a wave of his hand and she skidded back across the dirt on her backside. "It wasn't all my handiwork. I had a helping hand. Besides, Lot agrees that it was fun, don't you Lot?"

"Oh yes, yes," Lot agreed, nodding his head furiously.

Wyatt looked back to the scene admiringly. "People will look at that now and know exactly how powerful I am. They should carve my name onto it. Maybe I'll orb up there and do it myself."

"Good plan," Lot agreed.

"What's the point, Wyatt? You destroyed it. It's nothing, now. They'll just try and build a new one."

"Didn't I just tell you to be quiet, Bianca?" He walked over to her and lifted her by her hair, holding her head back so she looked into his eyes. "When are you going to learn to stop being so disobedient? You cannot challenge me. Stop lying to yourself and start listening." He pushed her away so that she again fell onto the ground. "Now, come with me, there's more wrecking to be done tonight."

Chris was sitting at the kitchen table trying to fix his stereo when Paris came downstairs the next morning. This time he didn't look as if he'd been out all night, and Paris began to wonder if she had jumped to conclusions about him. Across from him her mother sat working on her laptop.

"Morning," Paris yawned.

"Hey," Chris replied without looking up.

"Morning, button," Phoebe said.

Paris pulled out a bowl from the cupboard and emptied some cereal into it. Opening the fridge door, she pulled out a carton of milk and poured what little was inside it over the top of her breakfast.

"Ah... we're out of milk," she said, slowly shaking the last remaining drops from the carton.

"Why don't you and Chris go out and fetch some for me, then?" Phoebe said perkily.

"This stupid thing," Chris suddenly announced, slamming the screwdriver down onto the table in frustration.

"You know, Leo was always good at fixing stuff like that," Phoebe said. Chris glared at her. "Anyway, as I was saying, Chris, why don't you take Paris out and get some milk this morning. Maybe show her the local stores. She might like to look around."

"Yeah, whatever," he replied, going back to fixing what was in front of him.

Paris raised her eyebrows questioningly at her mother, then retrieved a spoon from the drawer and shovelled some cereal into her mouth.

"Did Wyatt come home yet?" she asked her mother.

"Don't talk with your mouthful, sweetie."

"Sorry," Paris apologised and swallowed it down. "So, did he?"

"No, not yet. I hope nothing's happened to him. That quake was pretty severe last night."

Chris' stereo unexpectedly blared on as he pieced it back together. He smiled sheepishly and turned the volume down.

"Amongst other devastation from last night's earthquake, The Golden Gate Bridge was destroyed in the midst of a police chase following the destruction of local bar Freddy's Boiler just north of San Francisco by three unknown felons who headed back into San Francisco on stolen motorbikes as the bridge split in half. Police were helpless to do anything amid the chaos. Builders insist that the earthquake was not strong enough to cause such severe damage to a long-standing foundation. The hunt for the three felons is ongoing by San Franciscan police."

Chris switched the stereo off as the rumble of engines sounded outside. Paris and Chris raced to the front doorway, Chris throwing the door open wide and stepping out onto the porch. Wyatt climbed off the motorbike he was riding. Paris looked over his two friends, also perched on motorbikes. They all looked guilty as sin.

The other guy with Wyatt had a pale complexion, sporting a dark jacket and short, spiky auburn hair. He appeared to be looking more at his destination than the other people surrounding him. The girl, on the other hand, had straight light brown hair that dropped down to her waist, and an olive complexion. She also had a strange bird-like birthmark on the inside of her left wrist.

Wyatt turned his back to them, and Paris took this opportunity to look at Chris. But Chris was not looking at Wyatt; he was looking towards the girl that was with him, some kind of pained longing on his face. Her gaze, too, briefly flitted to meet his. Paris concluded that there was something going on between Chris and the mystery girl, though she had no idea what it could be.

Wyatt pushed past Paris and Chris to get inside as his two friends took off without so much as a goodbye. Phoebe watched from the kitchen doorway as he paced past her up the stairs to his bedroom.

"I used the front," he said sarcastically over his shoulder. Although she appreciated it, Phoebe didn't think it plausible to thank him with that attitude.

Paris came back to her mother, but noticed Chris was still standing on the front porch, staring at the empty space on the road outside. When he finally made a move, it was forward, not backward. Paris raced after him.

"Chris, wait, we're supposed to be getting milk, remember?"

Chris stopped. "Right."

He pulled the keys of his car from his back pocket, and got into his car without so much as a glance towards Paris. She jumped into the passenger side. Silently he drove through the suburbs until they stopped nearby a large arboretum and got out of the car. Paris looked at the small set of shops he had brought her to with disappointment, her mother had promised her greater things, and even then she still had to walk at least a block or two to reach them. She moved forward, but Chris began to head in another direction.

"Chris, I can't buy milk without you. I have no money."

He hastily pulled his wallet from his back pocket and removed a note out of it, stuffing the paper into her hands.

"Now you do. Go. I'll meet you back here."

She began to head away, but turned back to see where he was headed. He entered the arboretum without so much as a glance back. Curious, she began to follow him. The place was covered in trees and bushes, so it wasn't hard for her to keep out of sight. At one stage she thought she had lost him, but soon found him in front of an angel statue in deep discussion with the girl with the strange birthmark.

"Calm down, Bianca," Chris said, taking her hands in his. She pulled herself away, yanking her hands from his grasp.

"Chris, he knows! He made it quite clear last night."

"Bianca..."

"I don't know what to do, Chris," she sobbed. "I love you, but we can't do this. Not unless you stop him. You have to go back."

"But we don't know whether it'll work."

"I can't stay here, Chris. He's probably watching right now."

"Bianca, he's at home. I just left there."

"Chris?" Paris said, making her way towards him. Bianca immediately set her sights upon the young girl, her expression a mixture of terror and fury. She ran towards Paris, an athame flashing into appearance in her hand, and plunged the knife up to her wrist through Paris' chest.

"Bianca, no!" Chris cried. "She's my cousin."

Bianca shook her head, tears still streaming down her face. "No, she's a spy. He's sending spies now. He knows we're planning something."

Chris ran over and grabbed hold of Bianca. She pulled her hand back and let Paris' body fall to the ground. Chris knelt down beside his cousin, the wound closing over as he lifted her into his arms.

"She's just a kid, Bianca. She's just a kid."

"She's not, Chris. She's got power. I felt it."

Chris shook his head in dismay and orbed himself and Paris back to her room. He placed her gently on the bed and felt her pulse. Bianca hadn't killed her, thankfully.

"Aunt Phoebe!" he called from the doorway.

Phoebe raced up the stairs. Before she had a chance to lecture Chris about orbing into the house, she spotted her daughter's limp form on the bed. She knelt beside her.

"Paris, honey?" she said, taking her hand and feeling her face. She turned to Chris. "What happened?"

Chris shook his head and bit his lip. "I'm sorry. I couldn't stop her."

"Who, Chris? Who?" Phoebe asked. Chris shook his head again and orbed back out of the room. "Chris!" she yelled after him.

He orbed back into the arboretum, but Bianca was gone. He searched around the area nearby but she was nowhere to be found. Having realised he'd left his car on the street outside, he went back, bought some milk, and drove himself home.

"What's wrong with her?" Wyatt asked Phoebe as he looked in through the bedroom door.

"I don't know. Chris brought her back like this. I knew something like this would happen. I'm going to send her home tomorrow. There's too much chaos happening here."

"Chris, stop her, please," Paris mumbled from the bed.

"What's she saying?" Wyatt asked.

"I don't know. Something about some mystery girl. Chris said he couldn't stop her either," Phoebe said.

"It hurts!" Paris cried. "Please, Chris!"

Phoebe tried to hold her daughter down as she writhed in delusions on the bed. When she looked back at the door, she discovered Wyatt had left.

Chris arrived home as Phoebe finally got Paris settled comfortably on her bed. She met him in the front hallway.

"Is she okay?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, I think so. Are you going to tell me who the mystery woman is?"

"Someone I don't want to lose," he said.

He headed up the stairs, but instead of making his way to his room, he turned instead to his mother's old bedroom. He hadn't been in there in years. In fact, he was often scared that he would see some deathly vision of her if he dared to enter. He rested his hand on the doorknob, swallowing the lump in his throat and pushed the door inwards.

Nothing jumped out at him. The room remained untouched, as it had been for so many years now. He walked over to the bed, sitting down and running his hand along the soft quilt, deep in thought. At last, he pushed himself up from the bed and headed to the dresser, to the reason he dared enter this room in the first place. A small jewellery box sat atop the rosewood surface. He lifted the heart shaped lid and pulled out the ring that lay inside. His mother's wedding ring. He looked it over, turning it slowly in his hands. It was perfect. It was still as beautiful as the day it was placed on her finger. He placed it inside his pocket and closed the door to his mother's room behind him.

He found Bianca waiting on his bed as he re-entered his room. She was no longer crying or upset, but very serious and resolute. Chris closed the door as quickly and quietly as he could behind him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I had to see you. I needed to apologise for what happened before. I was scared. But I realise now; he doesn't know anything. He's been pushing me to see if I'd crack. He wants me to confess everything to him." She paused. He seemed to understand. "I can't lose sleep over something like this. Give me a few hours and I'll have this all sorted out. Then tomorrow you can get hold of the book, and we'll do the spell, and you can go back and fix this."

"I don't know if I have the power to do that."

She took his hands. "I believe in you, Chris. I know you can. You're just as strong as he is." He looked at her doubtfully. "I swear, by tomorrow morning I'll have this thing worked out, and then everything will be back to the way it was. He won't suspect anything."

"But how?"

"Just trust me." She let go of his hands and moved to the window.

"Are you going now?" he asked.

"Soon."

"When can I see you again?"

"Meet me at our spot. At dawn."

He nodded compliance. "Okay."

She turned back to face him, her eyes alight with desire. "But in case I don't make it, I think we should say goodbye."

Chris stared back at her, hurt and confused. But as she walked closer, slowly unbuttoning her shirt, he finally understood. He took her into his arms and kissed her lips as she dropped her shirt to the floor.

He awoke the following morning as the sun began to rise. Lifting drowsy eyelids he realised Bianca was no longer with him. He sat up slowly and looked around. The first rays of light petered through his window and onto the pile of clothes strewn across the floor. He lifted his shirt and searched the pocket to make sure the ring was still there. He shoved it into the pocket of his jeans and threw on a fresh shirt before orbing back to the arboretum.

Bianca was there waiting for him, rubbing the arms of her button-up red sweater. No sooner had he landed, than he took her into his arms and kissed her forehead. It was only after he drew back from her that he realised the state that their spot was in. The flowers were all dead, the plants uprooted, and the old angel statue had been chipped and damaged to the extent that it was almost unrecognisable. The light of the sun had failed to reach far into this part of the garden, and so the grounds were awash in a deathly grey colour.

"What happened?" he asked.

She nodded solemnly. "It was him."

He took her face into his hands, her hair lifting between his fingers. "But... you're okay, aren't you?"

"For now." She sighed. "He's got new toys, more demons from the underworld, and he's keeping me on a very short leash. I only risked coming here just to make sure you would go ahead with the plan."

"Okay, okay, I'll do it. At least, I'll try," he said despondently. She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him. "So, what do we do now?" he asked as she broke away.

"You go back," she stated.

"Okay, but first," he moved back, taking her hand and pushing her down onto the stone seat, "sit. I have to ask you something."

"What?" she asked, confused. He fumbled in his pocket, and finally pulled out the ring, carefully placing it on her ring finger. She looked down at it, her eyes brimming with tears as they travelled up to his face, and gave him a loving smile.

"Will you marry me?"

"You're asking me now?" she asked, incredulously. He nodded. "Here?"

"This is still our spot, Bianca, no matter what he's done to it. Marry me."

"On one condition. You come back to me, safely."

He chuckled; a sound she had not heard from him in a very long time. "Have I ever let you down before?"

She moved in to kiss him, but stopped before she reached his lips as a whirring sound travelled from the wall nearby them. "What's that?"

Chris drew back and looked around. Bianca was the first to spot the probe rising from behind the wall. It was one of Wyatt's new toys – something he used to scan areas and transmit information back to him. The probe dived over the top of them, sending out a wide ray of digital light, and began to scan Bianca.

"Chris!" she cried, panicked.

Chris waved his hand at the probe, telekinetically throwing it back into the old stone angel statue. A small pile of smoke rose from it as the probe exploded upon impact. Bianca inhaled a few deep breaths, trying to stop herself from getting any more worked up than she already was. She needed to keep a cool head.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned.

"Yeah," she said, her voice a little shaken. "Yeah. I don't think it had time to transmit."

Chris surged to his feet, angered, staring at the place where the probe had exploded. "I cannot believe he's sending probes after us now. I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch."

"No," Bianca began, rising to calm him. "No, you're not. You're going to stick to the plan."

"But he knows."

"He may know about us, Chris, but he knows nothing else. He wouldn't have sent the probe otherwise." She took his hand, her voice insistent. "You have to go back, Chris. It's the only way to stop him. It's the only way to change all this."

He closed his eyes, trying to process the whole situation. He felt Bianca lift his hand and press it to her lips.

"Until tonight," she whispered. He nodded without opening his eyes, and then stood alone as she shimmered away.

Phoebe and Paris arrived home from the doctors that afternoon to find the front door wide open. Concerned, Phoebe picked up her pace and discovered Wyatt standing not far from the doorway, facing the stairs. Chris was in front of him, dangling in the air, hands around his neck and coughing as he struggled to breath.

"Do you think I'm not clued in on your little game, Chris? Why do you insist on defying me? I told you to leave it alone, and yet you just keep sticking your nose in."

"Wyatt!" Phoebe cried.

Wyatt flung Chris backwards as Paris came to a stop behind her mother. Chris fell against the table, upturning it as the vase, which sat on top, smashed beside him. He looked back vehemently at his older brother from his position on the floor.

"Paris, upstairs. Wyatt, kitchen, now!" Phoebe demanded.

Wyatt skulked past Chris into the kitchen, his eyes permanently locked with his younger brother's in a heated exchange. Phoebe helped Chris to his feet.

"Are you okay?" she asked,

"Yeah," he answered, brushing himself off.

"Why don't you go clean yourself up? I'll sort Wyatt out."

Chris gave one last fiery glance towards the kitchen before going upstairs. He washed his face and stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. It had to be done soon. He didn't know what he was going to do when he got there, but he had to stop Wyatt from turning evil, for everyone's sake.

As evening fell, Paris found herself leafing through the hidden book once more. The doctor had given her the all clear, which bought her at least a few extra days in San Francisco. As she flicked the pages quickly, she discovered there was a loose piece of paper working itself out from between the pages. She plied it out with her fingers and unfolded the note. Another poem, but this time it was something that Paris had often seen repeated in her mother's writings. She was not so eager to throw it aside this time. It seemed to be something incredibly important.

"Powers of witches rise," she read aloud, "come to me across the skies. Return my magic; give me back, all that was taken from the attack."

She looked up to the ceiling, as if waiting for something to happen from her reading the words aloud. She shrugged, tossing the paper aside, and reopened the book. Her hands fell upon the next page and lit up with a whitish glow. She pulled them away, startled at what she saw. When she placed them on the book again, she was hit with another vision of Chris looking over a thick aged book in the attic, quickly ducking out of the way from a ball of light which flew past him like a high speed tennis ball.

Again, she was back on her bed. She could hear low voices coming from upstairs. Coming from the attic. The pages of the book turned of their own accord before her. She spotted Bianca's name, her mother's vision that Chris was Wyatt's younger brother, and at the very back of the book something about Chris dying, and Uncle Leo's great evil deed. She realized that this Chris was her own cousin Chris, and suddenly she knew he was in great danger. She vaulted from her bed and ran to the attic door. It was locked. She rattled the knob in an effort to loosen it, but it wouldn't give. She pressed her ear against the door. There were definitely voices coming from the other side. She placed her hand over the lock on the door and, just like when she had opened the chest, felt the warmth course through her hand, and the lock giving way underneath.

"What do I tell them?" Chris asked as Bianca peered inside the attic.

"Don't tell them anything. Just stick to your cover story. The less they know about the future, the better."

"But what if they find out who I really am?"

"They won't," Bianca insisted. "Not as long as you can pass yourself off as their whitelighter."

"And you're sure I won't lose my powers when I go back?"

She smiled at his sudden insecurities, and the influx of questions he was now drilling her with. She turned and placed a hand against his face.

"Baby, it'll be okay. Just do the spell. And remember – protect baby Wyatt and you protect the Charmed Ones. Keep them alive for our future."

His lips curved into a wry smile. "Great. No pressure there."

Bianca moved towards the Book of Shadows, Chris followed closely, a lone floorboard squeaking under his weight.

"Chris, you know you're the only one who can do this. You're the only one who can save us."

"If I make it back."

"Baby, you have to make it back." She smiled softly. "If you want to marry me."

She placed a gentle kiss on his lips. Pulling back she saw the worry in his eyes had been replaced by determination and hope.

"You really know how to motivate a guy, you know that?" he said. She laughed in response.

He made his way over to the Book of Shadows and opened its pages. Very few spells remained in the book now. Many of the pages were either blank or torn. Wyatt had a knack for new technology, and so didn't feel the need to keep the old book when he kept all the spells he needed on himself. He had attempted to destroy the book many times, and in response his Aunt Paige had locked up the attic and set crystals around the dais to capture him if he came anywhere near the book again. Chris, already well aware of the plan, had known where to orb into the room and to discard the crystals if he ever needed to use it.

"You sure you can find the spell?" Bianca asked him, looking hastily towards the door. She could hear rattling noises coming from downstairs.

"Yeah. Just so long as he hasn't removed it. We won't have much time before he finds out what's going on."

"We won't need much time. Just long enough to send you back to them."

Again hearing the rattling downstairs, Bianca backed towards the far wall of the attic and withdrew a thick piece of chalk from her pocket. She placed it against the wooded surface and drew a thick, curved line down one side, then placed it at the top point again to start drawing the rest of the triquetra. This time, Chris heard the rattling coming from downstairs.

"Hurry," he urged Bianca, "before he finds us."

She pocketed the chalk as she finished, and gave a disappointed sigh. "It's time."

It was now silent outside the attic door again. For the time being, they both thought they were safe. Chris tore the page with the spell from the book and walked over to her. He looked just as saddened as she felt.

"I don't want to go," he said, taking her hands. "I don't want to leave you."

She looked down at her hands in his, and then pulled them away. Lifting her hand and pulling off the ring he had given her, she placed it in the centre of his palm.

"Here," she said, folding his fingers over the top so that the ring was securely in his hand. "This'll remind you of why we're doing this, of what's waiting for you here."

She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him closer. Their eyes closed as they embraced, both trying to take in their last moment together.

"Don't hang around too long, okay?" he finally said, pulling away to look at her. "Because if he finds you, if he knows you betrayed him, he'll kill you."

"Don't worry," she hushed him. She could read the seriousness in his eyes, and gave a small smile. "Come on. I can take care of myself."

He nodded in acceptance, resting his forehead on hers for one last time, then broke away and lifted the page with the spell into sight.

"Hear these words, hear the rhyme," he recited. "Heed the hope within my mind.  
Send me back to where I'll find what I wish in place and time."

Before them the triquetra flashed, lighting up in a soft white glow, the wall rippling slightly as the time portal opened. He moved towards it, turning for one long lingering glance at Bianca.

"Chris!" Paris shouted, almost falling through the attic doorway in her hurry. "Chris, no! Don't!"

Chris disappeared through the portal, the wall becoming dark again behind him. Paris raced over to Bianca, unafraid of what the woman had done to her the day before. Bianca could feel the surging heat in her hands as Paris shoved her backwards.

"What did you do to him?" Paris shrieked. "Why did you let him go?"

An athame flashed into Bianca's hands again as she slashed backwards across Paris' palms. Paris screamed in pain, collapsing to the floor and curling her hands into balls as blood trailed along the sides. Bianca stood above her, hand still clasping the athame. Tears were beginning to trickle down her cheeks.

"Nobody ever loved that man more than I did," she cried. "And I wouldn't have let him go if it wasn't absolutely necessary."

And as she pieced together her composure, she shimmered out of sight. Paris got to her feet, placing her bloodied hands against the triquetra Chris had walked through. The wall was solid, and removing her hands she found nothing but bloodied handprints that still remained on the wall. She turned as the Book of Shadows clattered to the floor behind her. She glanced at the wall, at her bleeding hands, and then finally stared back at the book.

"It was true," she whispered, astounded. "It was all true."

Bianca shimmered back into her home. Wyatt sat comfortably in the plush armchair before her, his legs leisurely swung over the arm.

"Hello, Bianca," he said.

She stared at him, frozen in panic. He lifted his hand and she began to float above him. Her survival instinct soon aroused, and she kicked her feet forward, landing a clear shot against the side of his face. Wyatt's head fell sideways with the force, his hand moving to touch the tender spot. Bianca fell to the floor. She quickly regained her footing and raced back towards her bedroom in search of the Grimoire, or something she could use against him.

"I wouldn't do that, bitch," he said, powering up an energy ball and throwing it at her back. She exploded into little black pieces before him.

Satisfied, he got to his feet, but stopped at the sight of a little dusty black tornado swirling before him, beginning to reconstitute back into the form of Bianca. He waited for her to fully form before grabbing her wrist.

"Seems you're not that easy to get rid of. No matter, I suppose I could always get some information out of you. Are you opposed to a little torture?" he asked. She cringed as he gripped her wrist tighter and pulled her in closer. "Perhaps we should start on the subject of my little brother. How are things between you and Chris?"

Back at the manor, Paris was bandaging her hands in the bathroom. She wound the bandage slowly, in a daze, as she tried to piece everything she'd seen and read together. Everything she'd dispelled as creative stories, as crazed cult influences, was real, and she was part of it. She was certain now that she had uncovered some of her own powers. She had premonitions, just like her mother, and the thing with her hands...

She looked down at her bandaged hands. Blood was just starting to seep through the crisp white cloth. She fastened the last clip and hazily made her way back up to the attic. Everything was as she'd left it. She moved back to the triquetra and traced her hands over the chalk; still not quite believing this solid wall had been some kind of portal. Her gaze trailed down the wooded surface to the floor where a crumpled piece of torn paper lay, licking the wall edges with the soft breeze. Picking it up, Paris found that it was another kind of spell. One, it seemed, that would have transported Chris back to the past. A past, she finally realised, where Chris had encountered and been killed by Leo. And despite the warning she had given him after her first vision, she knew that the only way to save him was to go back herself.

"Hear these words, hear the rhyme," she read aloud. "Heed the hope within my mind.  
Send me back to where I'll find what I wish in place and time."

The wall before her flashed with a brilliant white light as the triquetra became active once more. Whispered voices seem to echo from the other side. Hesitantly, Paris glanced back towards the darkened, empty attic. She dipped her hand into the watery surface before her, drawing back ever so slightly to make sure nothing bad would happen to her on the other side. With a final intake of breath, she plunged herself forward.

Chris flipped through the pages of the Book of Shadows, resting as it always did upon the dais in the middle of the attic. He wasn't even really reading it, just skimming the pages while he waited for Leo's return. Across the floor, baby Wyatt climbed to his feet and peered over the playpen railing at him, watching him with interest as if he was the most fascinating entertainment he'd ever know.

Chris glanced up to Wyatt, then back down at the book, turning the next few pages. A creaking floorboard sounded and he stopped, looking up to see if anyone had joined them.

"Hello?" he called out. He waited a moment for a response, but all was quiet. Thinking he was getting paranoid, he turned his attention back to the book. Again the creaking reverberated through the room. Chris removed his hands from the book, inching his way over to the playpen to stand guard over Wyatt.

Paris collapsed onto the floor nearby. She pushed herself up, looking around. The attic was awash in sunlight, and there were clearly more intact possessions lying about than in the future. As she glanced around, she spotted Chris in front of the playpen, staring at her in disbelief.

"Paris?" he questioned, incredulously.

She looked him over. His hair was perhaps a little shorter than it had been when he left. But apart from that, nothing had changed about him. It was at this time that she realised that he was dressed in the same fashion as her first vision, when he'd been killed.

Chris' attention was distracted by another set of footsteps sounding in the room as if someone else was approaching them. He turned towards the toddler in the playpen.

"Okay, it's time to get you out of here," he said.

Paris watched on, stunned, as Chris was suddenly thrown backwards, high in the air over her. He came to a crash landing against one of the wooden tables, which splintered under his weight. Paris scampered over to be beside him.

"Chris, get up," she coaxed. "We have to go. It's what I told you. It's Uncle Leo."

"I'm not leaving without him," Chris stated, his eyes firmly fixed on baby Wyatt.

Paris looked back to the playpen and saw a dark haired man standing in front of it - a man who was not her Uncle Leo. He rested a hand firmly on the railing, and from that small motion Paris knew he was a man of great power. She could hear Chris groan behind her as he got to his knees.

"Don't make me sacrifice you both," the man warned, gritting his teeth. He turned to lift Wyatt out of the playpen.

"Chris, who...?" Paris began.

Chris ignored her, gesturing with his hand vigorously and sending the man flying through the air, his long coat flapping behind him. He crashed on the ground, staring coldly at Chris.

Paris grabbed Chris' hand and yanked him to his feet. "C'mon, we have to get out of here."

The sun glinted from Gideon's direction, and they both suddenly spotted the athame in his hand. He vanished from sight. Chris broke from Paris' grasp and dashed towards Wyatt. The room abruptly seemed to freeze and spin around Paris as her vision came back to her. She broke into a run after Chris, her hands fastening around the athame as Gideon reappeared. The bandage fell away from her hand as the small metal dagger contorted into an even more bent version of itself. Chris stopped momentarily with the point just inches away from his abdomen. Paris pushed downwards, Gideon coming with her, unable to let go of the object. When Chris finally reached the playpen, Gideon released his hold on the athame, grimacing at the burns on his hand, and backhanded Paris across to the other side of the room. Chris lifted Wyatt into his arms and their forms dissipated as he orbed away. Gideon turned his attention back to Paris.

"Interfering little wench. Where did you come from?"

Paris crawled back as far as she could go while Gideon stalked towards her. She had just about given up all hope of living when Chris orbed in behind her, and orbed them both out together.

In a hospital corridor not far away, Leo lay writing on the floor in pain, clutching a wound in his abdomen that existed only in his mind. The spectral form of Barbas, the demon of fear, hovered over him, whispering ill thoughts into his ear.

"In trying to save one son, you have lost both sons. Very, very sad." He clucked pitifully.

Leo, unaware these thoughts were being subliminally planted into his head, cried out at once with despair. "No!"

He orbed back to the manor, into the living room where he had last left his two sons. Finding it empty, he began to manically search the rest of the house.

"Chris!" he shouted. "Chris!"

He froze in the doorway of the attic. The playpen sat before him, empty, and the Book of Shadows lay open on the dais. He gave a hasty glance about the room before moving forward. Carelessly discarded on the rug by the doorway was a twisted metal object. Leo knelt down to inspect it and discovered it was an athame, scorched and mangled beyond use. One edge of the athame was stained in blood; perhaps not enough to cause a mortal wound, but enough to injure someone. As if to support his theory, a bloody piece of cloth lay nearby. He beat his fist on the ground in frustration.

"Where are they, Gideon? Where did you take them?" he yelled. His response was silence, and he tried once again to gain the elder's attention. "Gideon, show yourself! Why don't you take on someone whose power is as great as yours?"

Still he was left alone in the open attic.

"Coward," he grimaced.

Unable to fathom where Gideon could be hiding out, and desperately unsure of his next move, Leo decided to consult his darker side in Gideon's mirror. He orbed out of the attic and into Gideon's office at magic school.

No sooner had he left, a SWAT team began to make their way into the manor from the ground floor with Darryl and Inspector Sheridan in tow. Darryl indicated for some of the SWAT officers to check upstairs. They came back empty-handed.

"The neighbours did say that someone was home, didn't they?" Inspector Sheridan asked Darryl.

"Looks like someone's playing games with us. No matter, someone should make an appearance soon, and then they'll hand him over. That's the way of the law."

"It's strange that they could just disappear like that," Sheridan said, looking around the brightly lit house.

"Maybe someone tipped them off," Darryl offered. "Why don't you stay here, and I'll take some of the SWAT over to the club with me. It's the next most likely place they could be."

Inspector Sheridan agreed, and began manoeuvring the rest of the SWAT team into secluded positions around the house.

Chris orbed into the back room of P3, his arms still securely around Paris. Wyatt stood behind them, tugging on the bottom of his blue shirt and waiting for Chris' next move. Chris lifted him from where he'd set him down, and placed him in the seat of the office chair to his right.

"Here, little buddy," he said. "Just stay there 'til we get some help."

He crouched in front of him, a protective hand on his knee, inspecting his brother before swivelling to survey Paris. She sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, her head down in thought.

"I'm so sorry, Chris. I thought it was Uncle Leo. My vision showed Uncle Leo."

"As much as I appreciate your help back there, I still don't understand," Chris commented. Paris looked up. "What are you doing here, Paris? How did you get here?"

"The same way you did," she stated.

"But I destroyed the spell!"

"No you didn't. It was on the floor. I found it there after you left."

"But, Wyatt...and," he barely whispered the name as his thoughts crossed back through the months to when he'd last seen her, "Bianca..."

"I never saw Wyatt."

He moved closer to her, his hands resting on her shoes as he attempted to read the honesty on her face. Her eyes met his and with a flash her vision transformed from the club to the attic. Chris was on his knees, his hands around his neck, unable to breath. Bianca stood behind him. She noticed the triquetra was still drawn on the wall in the background, just as they had left it. Then Chris was high in the air, falling and landing heavily onto one of the tables. As if she was there herself, she turned to see who had telekinetically thrown him and found grown up Wyatt, with Bianca's hand buried in his back. There was another flash, and Paris found herself suddenly back in the club, Chris still seated in front of her.

"You came back," she said. "You still made it. You still came back."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "You left when I did."

She said nothing, but watched as he took her fingers and pulled her hands towards him, turning her palms face up to look at her injuries. The slices Bianca had made across them were now gaping wounds, with red and black rings running around them. She winced as he gently touched the edges of the scarring.

"I think we better get you fixed up," he said. He looked to the blank grey ceiling, Paris following his gaze upwards. "Dad!"

As if on cue, a clicking noise sounded outside as the front entrance to P3 was opened. Chris cautiously opened the back room door and peered out. A group of darkly clothed men carrying guns stealthily descended the stairs into the main area of the club.

"We don't have much time," Chris said aloud.

Outside, Darryl announced: "Just remember, men, if you come across the felon and he does not give himself up, shoot to kill."

"Who are they after?" Paris asked.

Chris closed the door softly. "Me."

"You? What do they want you for?"

"Stealing a car," he said.

"Stealing a car," she repeated in disbelief.

"And escaping from jail."

"And escaping from jail?" she questioned, her voice raising a notch.

"And assaulting a police officer."

"You?" She looked at him, dumbfounded. "You assaulted a police officer?"

"Well, actually, that wasn't me. That was evil Chris."

She raised her eyebrows in interest, and quipped: "Yeah, I'm sure that's going to hold up in court."

"If I live that long."

He peered out the door again. The men were now making their way across the floor to the back room. He knew it wouldn't be long before they'd have to make a move again, before they were discovered.

"Wyatt, it's Daddy," Leo's voice echoed through the room. Wyatt lifted his head. Chris looked back, closing the door again. "Can you hear me? It's daddy, Wyatt."

Chris could see Wyatt's form lightening to a bluish-white colour. He dived for the chair.

"Wyatt, no!" he cried out.

His hand passed through the last few particles of the orb, and he fell to his knees, his elbows resting on the green canvas of the seat edge.

"Dammit, Wyatt!" he cursed.

"Where did he go?" Paris asked.

"I don't know," he confessed. Again, he called out to his father. This time Leo appeared, orbing into the room in-between the two cousins.

"Chris! I've been looking for you. Are you hurt?" Leo said, hugging him briefly, then pulling back to inspect him. Before Chris had a chance to reply, Leo was looking past him, searching the room before turning his attention back to Chris. "Where's Wyatt?"

"He's not with you?" Chris enquired. Leo shook his head and Chris looked away, defeated.

"But we heard you call out to him," Paris spoke up. Leo turned, suddenly noticing her for the first time.

"Chris?"

"Nah, she's okay," Chris said, waving his hand while deep in thought. Leo stared at him, puzzled.

The back room door creaked in the silence as it began to open. Chris snapped out of his reverie and spontaneously flipped his hand, closing the door again. He leapt over the mess on the floor, and quickly fastened the lock on the back.

"Chris, we know you're in there," Darryl said from the other side. "Why don't you release the hostages, and then we can talk business?"

"Hostages?" Leo hissed, glancing down at Paris. She shook her head frantically.

"Dad, just... can you fix her hands?" Chris said, glancing worriedly at the door over his shoulder.

Leo crouched before Paris who held her hands out to him, watching on in amazement as he covered her palms with his own and a soft glow emitted from between them. Her hands felt a little tingly, though Leo's hands weren't close enough to be touching them. A banging noise against the door made them all jump as the SWAT team attempted to break down the back room entrance.

"We have to get out of here," Chris insisted. "We need to find Wyatt."

"Gideon must have him," Leo said, his attention still focused on Paris. "He's the only one strong enough to mask his voice with mine. He's hiding out somewhere in the underworld."

"How do you know that?" Chris asked, astounded.

"He's working with Barbas. Or at least I suspect he is."

Leo drew his hands back from Paris. She could see that the palms of her hands were now perfectly fine. She turned her hands over, inspecting them with awe. There was another thump at the door, and a small splintering noise. Chris glanced back, but thankfully the door was still intact.

"How are you going to find them? Intercept their communication?" Chris questioned, despairingly. "He'll be trying to put his plan into action now that he's tricked Wyatt into coming to him. We need to hurry."

"Chris, we have time. Gideon doesn't know how to kill him, remember?"

"Yes, but in the meantime, the trauma could turn him."

Leo stood and began moving to the opposite side of the room. He seemed to be listening to something. Chris noticed he was preparing to orb.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To get Wyatt," Leo said.

"I'll come with you."

"No, you won't." Leo looked down at Paris. "You need to get her out of here. Go to the hospital; make sure your aunts are okay. I'll meet you there when I have Wyatt."

Leo dissolved into a long fountain-like stream of particles as he orbed to Gideon's hideout in the underworld. Chris grabbed Paris' arm and hauled her to her feet.

"We're going to see mom?" Paris asked, excitedly.

"Yes, but you are not going to say a word. She's been on a frantic search looking for your dad since her last premonition..."

"I know where he is!"

"I know you do, which is why you are not going to tell her. You'll mess up the time line."

"Like you haven't already?"

"Paris!" he exclaimed.

There was a crash behind them as the door finally gave way. Chris turned his back and instinctively covered Paris from the debris. As the dust began to settle, and the men began to file into the room, Chris orbed himself and Paris out of P3, narrowly avoiding being seen by the SWAT team members.

The maternity ward at the hospital was bustling with activity. Paige sat in one of the waiting room chairs, clasping a balloon in her hand. Phoebe bounced around, taking snapshots with her camera as they waited for news on Piper.

"Okay, Aunty Paige, big smile!" Phoebe said, positioning her camera on Paige.

Paige gave her a tired smile. Through the lens, Phoebe saw a large sparkled pattern form and develop into Chris and Paris as they orbed into the hospital. She depressed the button and the camera flashed. Paige scrambled to her feet and stood by Phoebe, trying to cover the new arrivals.

"Chris! Don't you think you should be more careful?" Phoebe softly warned, then gave him a big smile. "I mean, you don't want to bring back the witch trials."

"Sorry," he apologised.

"And who's your little friend? She's so cute," Phoebe said, pinching Paris' cheek and moving her hand back and forth.

"She's not another girlfriend, is she Chris?" Paige asked with a knowing smile.

Chris looked from Paris to Paige and gave a nervous laugh. "Uh, no."

Paris flinched away from her mother's hand and rubbed the side of her face, giving a pleading look to Chris.

"They're not always like this, are they?" she asked.

"No. I think they're still under some kind of spell."

"There's no spell, silly!" Paige said. She gave Chris a light tap on the arm. "We're just happy that you're going to be born today. Aren't you happy? You should be."

"No, I'm not happy," Chris argued. "Not when Gideon has Wyatt."

"Oh, is he babysitting?" Phoebe asked. "Good for him."

"No he's not babysitting. He wants to hurt Wyatt, remember? He's going to kill him!"

Paige glanced behind her, and then placed a finger to her lips. "Shh, don't be so loud! You don't want to lose your tongue now, do you?"

Chris rolled his eyes. Paris began to move towards her mother, who seemed to be paying more attention to what Chris was saying. She was hoping to drill the point home.

"Mo..." she began. Chris swiftly moved in behind her and covered her mouth with his hand. She shook her head free and glared at him. He shook his head disapprovingly at her.

"I don't think you're right," Phoebe finally spoke up. Paris and Chris diverted their attention back to her. "Gideon is the paragon of all good. He wouldn't hurt a fly. Now, smile!"

Chris reflexively brought his hand up to his eyes as the camera flashed again. Paris broke from his grasp and grabbed her mother's hands, pulling down the camera.

"Stop with the camera, okay? Listen to Chris. What he's saying is the truth. I saw it all myself. He's taken Wyatt, and he almost killed Chris and me. That's three innocents. Three in the past hour! How can someone who has tried to kill three children you know and love be the paragon of all good. He's not good, he's... evil."

Paige and Phoebe looked at her doubtfully. Their gleefulness was beginning to override with a sense of dismay. Chris saw what was happening, and decided to take up on Paris' argument.

"You know it in your hearts," he said. "You knew it before. Just try to remember, before you were perky, before you got high on this twisted sense of right and wrong. Your family was the most important thing to you, and now your family is in trouble. You have to snap out of it."

Phoebe and Paige paused, Chris and Paris stepping back from them as a golden glow formed around their hearts and spread outwards across their body. Paige took a deep breath, as if she had just resurfaced from underwater.

"What just happened?" she questioned.

"I think..." Phoebe looked at Chris. "We were under a spell. They just took us out of it."

Paris smiled, happy to have helped her mother out. Phoebe scrutinized her with fresh eyes, trying to work out the girl's involvement in it all.

"Sorry, who did you say..." she began

"Ms Halliwell?" a voice spoke from behind them. "Ms Matthews?"

Phoebe and Paige both spun to face Dr Roberts, still adorned in his surgical gear. Splotches of dry blood were patterned across his gown. Seeing the blood, Chris began to panic.

"What's happening? What's going on?" he enquired.

Phoebe moved towards the doctor, Paige stayed behind and took hold of Chris' arm. She gave him a sorry look, her tone soft. "Piper's in surgery."

"Surgery? Why? Why is she in surgery?"

"Complications," Paige replied shortly as Phoebe stopped before the doctor. He lowered his mask.

"Dr Roberts, how's Piper?" Phoebe questioned, worry evident in her voice.

"Well, that depends on how you look at it, I suppose" he said with a smile. "Me, I like to think she's moving off to a better place."

"What?" Chris cried.

"What is that supposed to mean?" followed Phoebe.

"Well, I think you know what I mean. She's haemorrhaging," he said with a chuckle. "We can't stop it. It's everywhere. But let's all try to think positively, shall we?"

Paige gasped. Paris was lost amid the bad news delivered as a happy alternative, and looked towards her relatives to gauge the reactions of everyone around her.

"No!" Chris shouted.

Phoebe stood her ground, angry and frustrated. "Now you listen to me. You get your ass back in that room and you save my sister and her baby! You understand me?"

Dr Roberts wasn't fazed by her determination. He simply glanced over her shoulder and called: "Security!"

Paige raced up to Phoebe and pulled her back. "Okay, they shoot people here, remember?"

"We have to get Piper out of here. We have to get her to Leo," Phoebe insisted.

"We can't. We don't know where he is," Paige retaliated.

"We can't just do nothing!"

Paige pulled Phoebe up short, and nudged her, indicating she should look back at Chris. Paris had pulled him into a chair and was sitting next to him, trying to comfort him with soft words and a reassuring hand on his back. Chris, himself, was inevitably upset, his face buried in his hands.

"He's not fading, Phoebe," Paige said. "There's still time."

Instantly Phoebe was struck with a thought. She moved over to Chris, crouching before him and placing her hands on his knees. He looked at her, brushing his hands across his face and back into his hair.

"Chris, I think I know what's going on," she said softly.

"I can't lose her again, Phoebe," he sobbed. "I just can't."

"You're not going to like what I'm about to say, Chris, but you have to leave."

"Leave? I'm not leaving! I can't leave her like this." He lifted himself up and tilted his head back, hitting it against the back wall. "Why can't I heal her? I'm half-whitelighter. I'm your whitelighter! I should be able to fix this."

"And you can, Chris, but only if you go. You have to go back home."

Paris looked at her mother. "You mean...?"

"But I haven't said goodbye. We still don't even know if Wyatt's okay."

Phoebe's gaze lowered, trying to blink back tears. "You don't understand, Chris. You can't co-exist in the same time frame as yourself. It's impossible; it's catastrophic. If you don't go now, we could lose you both. You have to do this to save Piper, Chris. Save your mother. Save yourself."

Paris took his hand in hers and nodded. "I'll come with you."

Chris gave a last longing glance up the hallway. Security was approaching them now, but they moved slowly, much slower than time would normally allow. Their hands slowly dropped to the holsters at their sides, preparing to draw their weapons.

"What's going on?" Paige asked, her tone slow and disbelieving. Phoebe shook her head in response, watching them pace ever slower towards her. Just as they were about to reach her, time returned back to normal and they passed as if they hadn't seen her. Paige glanced up the hallway towards the window. "Phoebe, it's night!"

Phoebe looked back to Paige. "Everything's back to normal?"

Dr Roberts blinked and moved towards the girls. His expression was now solemn and serious. "I'll do everything I can. I promise. Excuse me."

Paige nodded and watched as he headed away. "Leo must have done something."

Shortly after, the doors nearby opened and Leo walked through with Wyatt in his arms. Chris looked up from the chair and sighed with relief.

"You found him," he said.

"Is he okay?" Paige asked as Phoebe lifted Wyatt out of Leo's arms.

"Yeah. He wasn't with Gideon long enough to do any damage," Leo said.

"What happened to Gideon?" Paige asked.

Leo didn't respond. His posture became defensive, and his eyes lit up with a mixture of hatred and sorrow. Paris looked up from where she was sitting and stared at him, remembering her mother's journals as the realisation of what she'd misread came to her.

"The great evil deed. It was not Chris, but Gideon who suffered your wrath."

The three adults looked back at her suspiciously. Chris remained deep in his own thoughts. Phoebe turned back to Leo.

"We have to get Chris out of here," she said. "Things have taken a turn for the worst."

Worry suddenly appeared on Leo's face. "Why? What's happened?"

"There's an issue of a conflicting timeline about to arrive," Paige said.

"Piper's haemorrhaging, and I think that Chris being here, in this time, is jeopardising the labour," Phoebe added.

Chris dropped his head, as if ashamed. Paris clutched his hand. Leo saw the seriousness on everyone's faces and immediately understood.

"I'll take him back," he said. "Just don't let anything happen while I'm gone."

He brushed a hand over Wyatt's head. Walking over to Chris and Paris, he shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed.

"Well, I guess this is it," he said. Chris nodded. Paige and Phoebe joined them.

"Time for the huggin' part," Paige said. Chris gave her a small smile, then stood and hugged her goodbye.

Phoebe hugged him with her free arm and placed a kiss on his cheek. "I'm really going to miss you, Chris, but I promise I'll look after you. Just go back to that beautiful, peaceful world you've made for us all."

"Thanks, Aunt Phoebe," he said. He looked to Wyatt, taking his hand and placing his fist against his lips. "Bye, little fella. Be good." He stood next to Leo. "I'm ready."

"Bye Chris. See you...Chris' friend," Paige said.

"Paris," Paris said with a warm smile.

"Paris," Paige repeated, smiling in return.

"Say bye bye," Phoebe said to Wyatt, waving his hand at Chris.

Chris smiled. Leo orbed Chris, Paris and himself out of the hospital. Paige looked to Phoebe after they left. Phoebe was playing with Wyatt, oblivious to anything else.

"There was something about that girl," she pondered aloud.

"Which girl?" Phoebe enquired, her attention still on Wyatt.

"Chris' friend. Paris. She was so keen to help us out." Paige stopped mid-thought and stared at Wyatt. "Didn't she say something about three children?"

This caught Phoebe's attention. She looked back at Paige.

"What, you mean like Piper's little girl she was meant to have?" Phoebe questioned.

"I dunno. I mean, do the maths. There'd have to be a good six or seven years between her and Chris," she mused. She tilted her head to the side as she looked over Phoebe. "Come to think of it, she looked a little like you."

Phoebe instinctively looked down to her stomach, remembering her vision, and then looked back to Wyatt. Chris hadn't told them who she was. In fact, Chris wouldn't really let the young girl get a word in edgewise. And now they'd gone, leaving the girls to wonder if Paris really was Phoebe's own daughter.

Leo orbed the group back to the attic in the manor. Chris cleared the area by the far wall as Leo retrieved a piece of chalk, handing it to him so that he could draw the triquetra.

"I don't think we have enough of this potion for it to be strong enough. Think you can remember the spell?" Leo asked.

"I can do one better," Paris said. "I have the spell."

"The one we used to come back here?" Chris asked. She nodded. "That's not going to be very helpful."

"Well," she looked down at it, "it just requires a little rewording, that's all. But I can do it. I saw enough of mom's ones at home."

Chris glared at Paris, and then braved a glance at Leo to see if he'd noticed what she'd said. He seemed oblivious to their conversation, searching instead for the vial he had hidden. He pulled it out of its hiding position with an exultant shout, carrying the blue liquid over to where Chris and Paris now stood.

"Are you going to be okay?" Leo asked. Chris nodded.

"I've got this rugrat for company," Chris said, grabbing Paris into a headlock.

"Hey!" she cried, squirming free and pulling back.

"Don't worry. I'll be fine," Chris said.

"Okay. Just remember, when you get back, take it easy on Wyatt. He's not going to be the same as when you left."

"Unless you spoil him," Chris joked with a wry smile. Leo punched him lightly. "Well, you know, favourite son syndrome."

"I promise, I'll spoil you both equally," Leo said. He gave Chris a hug. "I'm going to miss you. After everything we've been through, just think I'm going to have to wait another twenty odd years to do it all over again."

"Give my love to mom," Chris said. "I wish I could have seen her just one last time."

"Don't worry. I'll look out for her too," Leo promised. "Now go."

"You ready, Paris?" Chris asked.

Paris unfolded the piece of paper, studying it in her hands. Finally, she gave Chris a nod and took a deep breath.

"Of these words and of this rhyme which brought us back through space and time, hear my call and hear my plee, return us home where our life should be."

Chris pitched the vial against the wall as the last word left her lips. It spun end over end as it headed towards the wall, but this time did not break in mid-air. It shattered against the wall, the dye seeping in as the triquetra lit up. Paris eagerly went first, racing and diving through the symbol. Chris took his time, moving as close to the wall as he could, glancing back at Leo and taking in the bright attic for one last time. Leo smiled approvingly, and Chris gave a weak smile back, then turned and headed into the triquetra. The light dwindled behind him and the attic wall became wooden once more.

"Bye, Chris," Leo said, sadly, and then orbed back to the hospital to meet the newest member of the family.

Paris found herself landing face-down in the brightly lit attic. For a moment she thought she had never left, and that the triquetra had some kind of rebounding effect. She stared in disbelief as the attic shimmered and rippled in front of her, then began to peel back towards her. She froze, unsure of where she could go except for the wall behind her. In front of her the attic began to take on a different shape and a darker colour. The line came within inches of her face when she ducked under her arms and it passed over her. When she looked up again she was lying on her bed, in her house, with the missing journal in front of her. It was open to the last page, and on this page her mother had written how everything had turned out okay. Piper and baby Chris were okay. And everybody couldn't be happier. Paris then realised that what she had just experienced must have been a temporal time shift.

Paris climbed off her bed, carefully peeking out her bedroom door. If she was in happy-land again, she knew it could be deadly. Cautiously climbing down the stairs, she saw her mother chatting light-heartedly in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in her hands.

"Paris!" Phoebe said, glancing her way. "I thought you were still sleeping. You've been studying so hard lately; I didn't want to wake you."

Paris inched her way slowly into the kitchen. "No, I'm awake now."

"You know I wouldn't be surprised if she starts attending your college. She's brilliant at everything, a lot better than I was. Must get the brains from her father."

The man sitting across the table from her laughed. He turned to look at Paris and she instantly recognised him. His hair was still blonde, though much shorter, and his face was clean-shaven.

"Hello, Paris," he said. "Come have a seat."

He patted the table next to him. She sat in the spare seat, unable to keep her eyes off him.

"Paris, sweetie, it's rude to stare," Phoebe said.

Paris shook her head. "Sorry, I..."

"Wyatt was just telling me he's finished his last med exam. He's heading back to San Francisco to do an internship at the hospital there. It'll be nice being closer to home, won't it?"

"Yeah," Wyatt agreed. "I rarely get to see my family anymore, so I'm glad I've got a few days off to check up on everyone."

Paris glanced between her mother and Wyatt. There didn't seem to be a hostile bone in his body anymore, and Paris couldn't help but feel she was dreaming. A lone thought suddenly struck her.

"Did Chris make it home yet?" she asked.

Her mother looked at her sadly, and for a moment Paris was struck with worry. She reached out and took her by the hand.

"I'm sorry, honey. We haven't heard anything yet. Wyatt will give them a call later."

Chris emerged on the other side of the triquetra into the brightly lit attic. Everything looked the same. His father was even standing behind the dais, looking through the Book of Shadows. For a moment, Chris doubted he had gone anywhere. Leo looked up and spotted his youngest son standing by the wall, looking lost. He raced over and threw his arms around him.

"Chris? Chris," he said. He drew back when his son didn't respond.

Chris looked at him blankly, as if he was only realising someone else was there. "Dad?"

"Yeah, it's me, Chris. Are you okay?" Leo asked.

Chris looked past him, looking around the floor for his cousin. "Where's Paris?"

"She's at home, Chris," Leo answered, confused. He pulled Chris' face back to face him. "Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"Listen to me, Chris. I don't want you jumping into anymore portals, okay? Otherwise one of these days you will be dinosaur kibble, and I don't think either of us wants that," Leo quipped. Chris shook his head numbly.

"Leo?" a voice called from the stairway. Chris and Leo both turned towards the door. "What are you doing up there?"

Chris watched as a brunette woman came through the door, wiping her hands on her apron. He stared in disbelief, tears beginning to well in his eyes.

"Mom?" he whispered. She looked up, and met his gaze with the same recognition and disbelief.

"Chris?" she asked.

He ran over to her and held her tightly in his arms. She returned his embrace, pulling his head down onto her shoulder as he wept.

"Hey, it's okay," she said, running her hand through his hair. "You're okay. You're home now."

She looked over his shoulder at Leo. He stared back, relieved and happy. He smiled. Piper looked back down to the young man who'd crumbled to a boy in her arms. Her son.

Outside the world had been restored anew. Chris wandered the streets later that day, wandering through streets which looked as they had in the year he'd travelled back to. There was no destruction, no secret probes flying about, and no high crime rate. He paused outside a clothing store and peered in the window. Bianca was inside, alive and well, speaking to one of the sales clerks. She lifted up a top to examine it. Chris rapped on the window. She looked over at him, catching his eye. For a brief moment something passed between them, and then she returned to what she was doing. He saw there was no recognition in her gaze. As he continued on his way down the road, and into the arboretum, he realised why she hadn't recognised him. If Wyatt was no longer evil, then Wyatt did not travel through the streets and the underworld recruiting members for his gang. And since he had no need to chase after Wyatt and his gang in an effort to set things right, he had never met Bianca. Neither of them had realised that if he changed the past, there would be no future for them. Not unless they met again.

Chris looked up from the stone seat he was seated on inside the arboretum, looking back at the old stone angel. This had been their spot. Memories of his old life ran through his mind, memories that no longer mattered. He would have to bury them, like he would have to bury the memories of the past. Chris bowed his head again; knowing that what he had done was for the best, for it had created a better future.


End file.
